


Leoniles Week 2k18

by halciian



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, is that ot3 on the horizon though, these will all be written quickly so don't expect anything amazing, tune in next time to see odin dark make his grand appearance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 17:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halciian/pseuds/halciian
Summary: Because I'm still weak for these two.





	Leoniles Week 2k18

**Author's Note:**

> leoniles week is here.
> 
> the theme for today is ‘meeting.’
> 
> i had a lot of trouble writing this for some reason...
> 
> tw: mentions of abuse. it’s impossible for me to write anything remotely happy. luckily this is post revelations...
> 
> cross posted on my [tumblr.](http://enenra.co.vu/post/177326218354/rendezvous-with-a-crooked-gait)

His father would take him hunting.

On the rare days when the Nohrian sun would shine through the clouds, Leon would accompany him on a horse of his own and make for the woods above ground.

He loved those trips. The hunt was merely a secondary concern of his, yet his father...

He would smile for him. His father would actually  _smile_  for  _him_... It had been happening less and less as of late. Leon would be giddy, fighting the urge to skip through the halls the following day lest his mother scold him. But he could not contain it. It was a rapturous feeling, beating at his chest with a comforting warmth as he recalled how his father ruffled his hair in pride when he managed to find a fowl here or a fox there.

Leon did not know their final hunting trip had come on the eve of his eighth birthday.

It was a rather lackluster hunt, despite the season having supposed to dictate otherwise, save for a fawn separated by its herd. Left in the dust, tripping over broken tree limbs and the remnants of dead shrubs. Its limbs were lanky, new, and Leon felt rather strange as the guards that accompanied them on each of their excursions were all but howling with laughter.

His father remained expressionless as he took aim.

Leon did not watch as the arrow found its mark.

The ride back to the castle was silent. It was not the comforting quiet that would cling to his father’s being, but rather an oppressive stillness. When all was said and done, when they returned to Krakenburg and his mother greeted him with enthusiasm, Leon waited for his father to ruffle his hair. It was with baited breath as he approached closer, gazing down at him with the judge’s gavel.

His hand did not rise in approval. His praise was non-existent. He did not mince words, lamenting as to how pathetic Leon was during the final moments. To look away from death with fear and trepidation. From the natural order of the world.

From the natural order of the Nohrian royal family.

And then his father left. And then his mother left, chasing after his father, but not before she scowled at Leon for his failure to achieve that blissful thing known as  _favor_.

And then the years passed by. There were no more hunting trips. There were cold words and even colder hands. They were at Camilla’s neck. They were pulling at Marx’s hair, dragging him to the training grounds. They left terrible blossoms of blue and purple on his chest as his father bested an adolescent Leon in combat again and again.

It was then that he took up magic. He did not care about his father’s favor. Not anymore.

Not anymore.

_Not anymore._

_Never again..._

 

* * *

 

A knock at the screen is what breaks Leon free from his thoughts. He lifts his head from the crook of his arms only to see Zero standing there. He looks strange here, framed against unfamiliar furniture as an even stranger expression settles on his face.

They’re in Hoshido now. Marx, Elise, Camilla... all of them were now esteemed guests as talks of concord were underway. He had felt relieved. Hopeful, even. The butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the prospect of such a feeble thing as peace left him trapped in an unfamiliar daze.

What was this feeling?

All that Leon knows is seeing him now, wrapped in familiar blues and greys, is a comfort in this strange, foreign land.

“You and I should rendezvous more often.” Zero muses in the dim candlelight. At that, Leon smiles. It’s a small thing, but a smile nonetheless, and Zero returns it graciously. “It’s rather fun, sneaking into your room when I shouldn’t be. It’s almost like a game... And you’re my prize.”

He wants to laugh. It’s so immature, the way they were going about this, but it excites him. There’s something exhilarating about being a prize to catch. The way Zero gazes at him leaves his heart beating faster in his chest.

“Come here,” he hears Zero say, and Leon obliges. The heat from the blankets is dearly missed as he makes his way across the spacious room. He’s standing before him now. A beat passes, then two, until he feels a pair of strong arms wrap around him.

Leon is warm again. He’s always liked how warm Zero is. These days, he’s far warmer than anything a hearth could ever hope to provide. Or perhaps that is merely bias speaking for itself.

“I trust you were not followed?” Leon asks after a long time, his own arms snaking around Zero’s waist as he takes in his scent. The wind. Pine needles. A starry night. Those are the things that he reminds him of as Leon closes his eyes.

“Have more faith in my abilities, milord.”

“Leon,” the prince corrects him. Old habits die hard.

“Leon,” Zero repeats for good measure. “You looked deep in thought.”

At that, Leon pushes away from his hold. It’s not enough to entirely break free, but just enough for him to gaze directly into his eye. “How long were you watching me before you made your presence known?”

Zero pauses. “A minute or so.” Odd. Is that pink dusting his cheeks? His eye darts to and fro, looking at anything but him as a wry smile curls at his lips.

_Liar._

But Leon disregards it, closing the distance once more and resting his chin on Zero’s shoulder. “I was thinking about the past. Reminiscing, I suppose.”

“Reminiscing?”

“About hunting.” Now it’s Leon’s turn to pause. “And... about you.”

He chuckles. It’s a low thing, a rumble in his chest and like velvet in Leon’s ears. It’s such a lovely sound. “Nice to know I occupy your thoughts in the dead of night.”

Leon does not say anything. He’s staring at the screen now.

“About a previous meeting, perhaps?” Zero asks after a long time.

“Our first meeting.”

Zero doesn’t say anything. Not for a long time. He wonders if he’s ruined this until Zero’s strained voice breaks through the night air. “That old memory? It’s hardly romantic.”

“You’re right. It is a rather bleak memory. But everything happens for a reason, so they say.”

“That expression is used to justify the wickedness of man.”

Leon can’t help but agree.

 

* * *

He was getting ready for bed one night. Reading, studying the pages of the divine tome gifted to him with anticipation - excitement. Power. Cruelty. Wickedness. All the implications of the world were made bare in this book given by the divine. He could destroy and rebuild at the same time – make life bloom from nothing and send a man crashing to the earth with the wave of a hand.

It lacked honor, attacking from the back lines. His father despised such tactics. He always favored swordplay above all else. But Leon did not care. The bruises on his chest were what drove him away from his father – from Garon.

But a crash from beyond his bedroom door is what broke him from his stupor. It left Leon wide eyed, gazing at his door as he closed Brynhildr. He stepped out of the bed, all but a wraith as he clung to the tome and crossed his room. He found the handle of the door.

Another crash, followed by murmurs. The thought of meeting someone if he turned the knob made Leon go rigid.

A struggle, and then muffled screaming. A woman. He recognized the one screaming. A maid who tended to his mother. The wailing continued for eons, until it disappeared after what sounded like metal brushing against a sheath. Something hit the floor just beyond his door.

A curse. He heard a voice cursing under their breath. Two. Three. Four. He counted four voices whispering fervently with one another, but he could not make out what they were saying.

What a familiar feeling. The helplessness, waiting with baited breath and an ear pressed to his door as thieves made their way through the halls of the castle.

His father was to blame for this.

He wanted to grind his teeth in. Fear was beyond him. He was indignation incarnate now, a boy with too much hatred – too familiar with the concept of his own demise to bother with the thought of terror.

But something whispered to Leon. A gentle pulse against his chest. A comforting thing as the air around his tome glowed in purples and blues. It made him feel strong – stronger than would be assassins that go bump in the night. Stronger than the troubles that ailed him. Stronger than his father.

Stronger than the memories that only served to confuse him.

His hand twisted at the handle when he heard another crash. It was further from the door this time, but they were still in the hallway.

He opened the door quickly, presence made known as the thieves turned to face him. He stood tall, Bryinhildr pulsating with light in the hand at his side.

How troublesome.

The maid sat still against the stone wall. Leon offered her body a cursory glance. “Were the guards paid off again?”

The tallest one of the four... he was the one who stepped forward first. A knife coated in crimson – her blood, Leon can’t help but think – shone ever so brilliantly in his calloused hand. He looked afraid, terrified even, as Leon cocked his head to the side.

“G-Gerard,” a hooded figure whispered to him. A girl no older than himself, Leon assumed. “What do we do?”

How troublesome.

“I’m feeling rather bleak tonight,” Leon offered gingerly. It was to himself, more than anything, but one of them seemed to have heard. A boy with white hair, almost silver, a single eye gazing at him in the darkness.

He was not afraid. He looked arrogant, more than anything, a smile playing at his lips.

_How troublesome..._

_How utterly troublesome..._

 

* * *

 

“Can’t sleep?”

Leon turns toward him. A man with silver hair. The smile he’s giving him now isn’t so arrogant anymore. It’s tender, soft. Reserved only for him, Leon can’t help but think, as Zero’s hand reaches up to brush away flyaway strands of blonde hair.

Truth be told, he hardly felt like he had slept at all, but the waning candle at the bedside deems otherwise. Leon sighs a tired sigh, reveling in the feather light touches to his head. “This place gives me strange dreams. It feels like I’m stuck between past and present.”

“It’s the bed, or lack thereof.”

Right. They used something known as futons here in Hoshido. Experiencing the culture of Nohr’s new ally first-hand would certainly ease tensions, but still... He was not used to this. His back was beginning to hurt.

So Leon sits up, attempting to ease the sore muscles by stretching his arms. It looks undignified as he yawns and rubs at his eyes, but he doesn’t particularly care.

And then he hears snickering behind him. “You look like a cat.”

If they were back home, Leon would have grabbed one of the extra pillows and slapped him gently with it. But they’re not at home. There are no extra pillows in arm’s reach either, so all Leon opts for is a simple “Quiet, you.”

He’s still chuckling. It’s a nice sound, but Leon notices that it dies away a bit too quickly as he tries to massage the knots out of his shoulders. He’s watching him. It’s silent as the candle finally burns out.

“Why did you spare me?”

Leon stops. He says it so casually, as if Zero were merely commenting on the weather. He catches himself though, finishing the kneading and sighing in relief. He feels a little better. “I’ve already told you why.”

“It’s nice to hear you say it.”

Leon closes his eyes, a bitter smile playing at his lips. “It’s hardly romantic.”

He hears Zero shift behind him. “You’re right.”

“I was feeling rather bleak that night,” Leon answers easily. “Rebellious, but bleak all the same. I was beginning to hate that shell of a man.”

Speaking of such things makes him feel strange, but it’s the truth. He will not shy away from the truth, especially if it’s at Zero’s request.

But all Zero gives him is silence. It’s not stifling like his father’s silence all those years ago, but Leon can’t help but feel as though he’s said something wrong.

After a long time, Leon finally hears him shift again. He’s chuckling. Leon’s not sure why. “A prince made of porcelain is far more interesting when he has a few chips.”

“It wasn’t pity. It was hardly sympathy. A boy far more damaged than me was begging me to kill him, and I merely took interest.” Leon feels strange. He’s reminded of the fawn in the woods whenever he sees that boy kneeling before him with a guard’s sword to his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“You say that every time.”

“I treated you unfairly.” Leon hears Zero lift himself up from the futon. He’s sitting next to him now, and Leon doesn’t understand why Zero is smiling at him even now. “For that, I am sorry.”

Zero doesn’t say anything. Not for a long time. All that he does is sigh, as if a weight on his chest has been lifted.

Leon feels the same way. He hardly realized this had been weighing on his own mind so heavily, but speaking of the past now is rather relieving.

“The future looks bright.” Zero places his hand atop his, gazing at Leon with a glint in his eye. “Too bright. Don’t you agree?”

He obliges him, smiles as the light of the moon shines through the screen and hits Zero’s skin. In Hoshido, even the moon is too bright for their eyes. “Yes. It does.”

“I want to go back home.” Leon looks at him with confusion, before Zero lets go of his hand and wraps both arms around his waist, dragging them back down to the futon. He’s partly on top of Leon now, but he doesn’t mind. “There it is,” Zero sighs against the crook of Leon’s neck. “I’m home, Leon.”

The laugh that escapes his throat is breathy. It’s careless, hopeful, carefree. “Welcome home.” But realization hits him before he has a chance to drift off to sleep. “Oh, here.” He grabs Zero’s hand, entwining their fingers together and placing them against his chest. “Much better.”

He likes it when he holds his hand.  _It helps me rest easier_ , Zero once told him some years ago. Now though, as the past and the present meld into one, he feels Zero’s lips curl into a smile against his neck.

“Charmer.”

**Author's Note:**

> meeting – a rendezvous, a joining between two or more people/groups. i saw something in the corner of my eye and went on a hopping adventure with a crooked gait! i can’t help but wonder... does he have a crooked gait too?
> 
> i'm not proud of this tbh. hopefully tomorrow will be better...


End file.
